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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078251">names without words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis'>iosis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>HisoIllu Week, M/M, nsfw in chpter 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 02:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26078251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Illumi has trouble tracking down a target. Hisoka makes tea and coffee in the mornings. They talk little, but understand all they need and more.</p><p>or, 'married life' and 'love language' with Hisoka and Illumi.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hisoka/Illumi Zoldyck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a friend in need</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for HisoIllu week 2020, shoutouts to the organisers and to all the great artists that took part! A mix of themes for day 1: married life and day 4: love language.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><br/>
The kettle - metal, with small chips peppering enamel flowers and a large dint on the side - picks up a whistle long before the water comes to a boil. The sound drifts through the room, bringing with it a hint of steam, floating somewhere between night and waking.  </p><p>Illumi had asked him on the first morning after the day he moved in, an amused sort of confusion in his voice - why not just a regular electric boiler? Hisoka can't remember what he tells him, something about habit and routine and memory; the words themselves aren't the important bit. The important bit is how Illumi blinks a silent approval, an understanding, and never hesitates putting the old-fashioned pot on the stove again.   </p><p>It is not a complex routine - before Illumi, he'd almost do it on autopilot, still half-draped in sleep. But now Illumi's in the shower, using Hisoka's soap and Hisoka's towels, keeps his shampoo on Hisoka's shelves, so Hisoka gives it a little more effort. Everything forms a neat line on the bench - coffee brewer for dearest Illumi, teapot and strainer for himself, brown sugar in a glass jar, two mugs. Yellow with blue swirls is his favourite, and plain white for Illumi - boring, but it is what he likes best. Energising mix of herbal tea, and the strange caffeine concoction that Illumi brings back from the manor and still claims he's not addicted to. Hisoka grins to himself - Illumi still claims many strange illogical things. Though technically some <em>do</em> have some truth to them - they aren't exactly your regular definition of <em>friends.</em>  Not at this point.  </p><p> </p><p>Hisoka doesn't talk about the past. Not because he no longer carries it folded up in his chest through every moment of the present, but because he's made peace with it, put it to rest. Rest is the bottom of a lake, sedimented in memory - held close but with no real claim to power, a murky darkness where everything above is clear and untroubled. </p><p>Illumi knows this so he doesn't ever try stir the water, doesn't push - not even when the pull of curiosity radiates off him at the mention of a past anecdote with the Spiders, or when someone else brings up Meteor City on an unrelated note. Illumi - the weight of his name, of his mouth on his tongue tastes of gratitude - there's things Illumi understands without words.<br/>
   <br/>
Illumi doesn't talk about his past, but with Illumi it's more difficult, more delicate somehow. He wears a lot of feelings, especially for a Zoldyck's definition of <em>'assassin</em>' - a lot of colours and desires and thoughts that he knows no language for. They lurk there, unspoken, unnamed and for the most part unacknowledged - it is easier to evade weakness than learn to call it by its name, Hisoka supposes. Illumi does give names to some of them - Killua's name, his other sibling. The way his teeth bare around <em>Hisoka,</em> razor sharp and deadly. Illumi doesn't talk about his past or present but some of it speaks for itself, beyond words or names or meaning. </p><p>Hisoka knows, so he learns to listen. </p><p> </p><p><br/>
The whistling shifts to a higher pitch - Hisoka whistles back, mimicking the sound as he turns off the stove and pours the water, leaves the brewers to sit. Half a teaspoon of brown sugar for himself, and none for- hmm, actually scratch that, a full teaspoon for Illumi. Judging by the half-hour the assassin has already spent in the shower, today is a sweetened extra-extra-strong kind of day. </p><p>He's been in a foul mood for the past few days, Illumi . A mark that proved to be more elusive than the usual - there's been no trace of him for days, official or otherwise. Illumi dealt with this annoyance in his own ways - coming home later than usual, moves less playful when they'd spar. Less willing to indulge Hisoka when he'd leave ragged breaths against the shell of his ear, <em>let me hear you</em>, and <em>you sound so good like this</em>; then his sleep was tense, quiet. Too quiet, like he'd be too strung up to allow himself a moment's relaxation even out of consciousness.  </p><p>Illumi is completely soundless still as he makes his way into the kitchen, wet hair draped loose on a towel around his shoulders. He smells of soap and cinders and his skin still holds the heat from the shower, something the hedonist in Hisoka doesn't miss the chance to bask in. There's little reciprocation to the embrace or the kiss pressed to Illumi's temple, but his hands linger over Hisoka's as Illumi takes the mug from him, and at the first sip his eyes close, a small sign of content, of peace.<br/>
 <br/>
Warmth spreads from some unknown spot in his chest. Hisoka lets it.</p><p>    </p><p>The assassin would usually be delighted, in his own Illumi way, when a job had an element of challenge to it - a case, not just a body with a price tag attached. Hours dedicated to profiling an elusive mark, mapping out their social circle, tracking them down in busy streets and backwater alleys like some wildlife Hunter would with a rare beast.  Foul luck would have it for this particular bounty to be wired with a ticking clock - some vaguely corrupt official due to give a presentation at some quasi-important convention. The client wanted him gone long before his speech, long enough to make it seem as if he bailed, abandoned ship. A voice scrambler, a credit card, a ticket to a different province - everything Illumi would need for Mr. Loretski to be last seen at the Lingong airport before his mysterious disappearance - except for the trail of Mr. Loretski himself. As time gradually ran short, Illumi became more and more agitated - though he never said so directly, Hisoka suspected it wasn't just the pressing timeline but also having the rare instance of fun denied to him - the annoyance of a gourmet promised a fine meal, but forced to have it on the run, cold and wrapped in plastic. </p><p> </p><p>'You'll be out all day again?' Hisoka inquires, lowering himself onto a bar stool, mug in hand. Illumi just blinks at him, black eyes owl-like and hollow. Hisoka envisions his thoughts moving through his mind, a deadly underwater current beneath a surface calm. He looks at Hisoka, then at the unoccupied stool beside him, then at Hisoka again, and then the current must've reached a waypoint because Illumi makes a decision and sinks to the floor at Hisoka's feet, back pressed up against his legs. </p><p>Hisoka takes that as invitation, and there's both leisure and function to it. Leisure for Illumi's hair is soft to the touch; function for it's riddled with knots that need tending to. Illumi hasn't been careful drying it today - another testimony to just how stressed these few days had him.  </p><p>'You still have sixty odd hours or so,' He says quietly, nimble fingers working through the offending tangles with utmost care. 'You'll find him. I've never seen a mark evade you for long.'<br/>
 <br/>
'There's a first time for everything.' Illumi mutters under his breath, washes the bitterness down with coffee. Hisoka watches over his shoulder as from the pocket of his sweatpants, he produces a yellowed map, margins  ridden with chaotic writing. Must be the notes from Illumi's client, leads on where to find him. Not exactly useful, Hisoka figures. </p><p>They sit like that, the comfortable stillness of a winter morning - Illumi crosslegged on the floor with work spread out before him and a mug warming his hands, Hisoka carding through his hair, curling his fingers every now and again to massage at the tension built up in his neck. Someone - Machi maybe, or was it Gon? Has commented on  how strange it must be, being with someone so inexpressive (Hisoka's sure 'weird' was the exact phrasing they'd used, 'Like his thoughts aren't with you'. Did it make sense how some saw Illumi that way, the ones that knew him little? Perhaps. </p><p> But Illumi sits at his feet with his defenceless back turned towards him, and drinks coffee that someone else has made and lets him brush out his hair, relaxing into the touch -  and Hisoka loves him too, really.       </p><p> </p><p>In another room, the alarm goes off, marking 8 in the morning. Illumi gets back on his feet, mug and the useless map abandoned on the floor. Hisoka drinks in the reluctance in every move, every gesture, and allows himself a little smile of pride. </p><p>'I may be late again.' the assassin tells him before he leaves, quiet and slightly apologetic. 'There's little time.'</p><p>'I'll order takeout, something we can warm up.' Hisoka hums nonchalantly - cooking was a together thing, something that started off as lingering mistrust and since then morphed into a habit unlike comfort. </p><p>The stool gives an unsteady wobble as Hisoka stretches, reaching out for a point of contact, hand slithering from Illumi's shoulder to his wait, pausing for a second to slip into the assassin's hand. A thumb rubs against his palm and Illumi lingers, leaning ever so slightly into the touch, eyes closing in something content and fond once more. And then something in his pocket gives an impatient beeps - his ride must be here - and he nods and steps away, the now mostly dry hair a dark halo around him.  </p><p>Sound tracks his movement through the house - the inaudible footsteps, the fastenings of his shoes, the turn of the handle. The door chiming, and then closing shut behind him. The slam of a car door and the screech of tires against the asphalt.</p><p>Hisoka perches on his stool, one leg tucked beneath his body, drinks the last of his gradually cooling tea, and listens to the house settling into the absence of Illumi. No weightless steps, no smell of soap, no subdued, stable hover of his nen. </p><p>When there's nothing left in the cup but residue and a few loose specks of herbs, he reaches for his cellphone. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. lovenotes on their headstones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hisoka helps in his own little ways. Illumi lets him. There's something symbiotic in their relationship of take and give and take.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter took a little longer to finish than anticipated, sorry for the wait! it also turned out to be a lot longer and hornier than i originally planned, but here we are...Hisoka tries to help, Illumi lets him, and more things go without saying.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p><br/>The digital face on the counter blinks 9.41 when the door chimes again - the sound gradates the silence, uninvasive but defining. Hisoka looks up from where he's draped over the couch, phone in hand, comforter pulled up to his chest - the evening has been chilly. There's warmth at the ready for dear Illumi -  curry and rice in the microwave, clean towels in the bathroom; a special little card tucked into the safety of his back pocket. Should Illumi wish to unwind a bit - a suspicion far from unfounded - Hisoka is well-prepared.  </p><p> </p><p>Illumi is predictable, if you know how to look, if you read the footnotes in the space between habits and words and glances. Even without Hisoka's little side project of the day, it's evident he's still found no success in the hunt - the sour weight of it fills the space, a harbinger, a prelude. The door chimes but the footsteps linger - Illumi likes the look of the night sky, when he is stressed (I am not stressed, a voice echoes in his mind, and Hisoka smiles). The stifling aura invades his senses and hangs in the air long before Illumi materialises  in the doorway, all bloodlust and unrelieved tension. </p><p>His hair is tangled at the ends - again - and there's a small splatter of blood marring his forearm, not Illumi's own but sadly not the target's. Getting sloppy, Hisoka hums to himself, taking in the outline of Illumi's shoulders and the pent up energy caught in the clench of his fists and the very faint scent of blood. It's uncharacteristic and heedless, and decidedly delicious.  </p><p>Three strides is all it takes for Illumi to cross the room, movements assassin-fast yet awkwardly put together, cagey; he's not even bothered shedding his shoes or his jacket. Fingers find purchase on his collar - Hisoka's smile grows as nails give way to claws, razor-sharp and unforgiving. The fabric creaks in protest as he's lurched into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, dark fury blinking down at him from mere inches away. When a mouth descends to his, an impatient, demanding heat - it is his quiet laughter that Illumi swallows, it's the unspoken fondness, it's the something darker writhing underneath.</p><p>'I've missed you too, Illumi,' he drawls out in the space between kisses, between breaths, and Illumi growls into his mouth, teeth bared against the soft of Hisoka's lips. All it takes is a slight shift in the angle, a change in pressure - and there's the unmistakable taste of blood, Hisoka's own. It goes well, he thinks, with the taste that's so uniquely<em> Illumi</em>, with the outline of the assassin's teeth, with the shape of his mouth. The contrast its colour makes against his skin.        </p><p><br/>Hisoka likes the thrill, likes the delicate balance that at first glance is anything but delicate. It's the taste of blood, the ardour of a kill,  the excitement of a show match, the spark, the challenge -  the balance of unstoppable force meets unmovable object except there's fragments of them in both. It's how Illumi is one of the few who could live up to the promise of killing him - and something low within him contracts at the mere thought, a white-hot pleasure - but if Hisoka plays the right cards Illumi would be spread out beneath him, pliant and panting, Hisoka's name caught in his throat, a vice.  </p><p>  <br/>But right now Illumi is a malevolent angel on his lap, raw unrelenting power holding on by a thread of control - Hisoka can almost taste the effort, the taut pull of invisible reins holding Illumi together -  so he simply lets him. Lets clawed hands trace the outline of his jugular, lets the tongue licking into his mouth, hot and insistent - lets Illumi set the pace. His hands are still trapped in the tangle of the throw and though he itches to touch, to hold and feel and take Illumi apart, the temptation can wait - this here and now isn't about him. Instead Hisoka relaxes into the couch and thinks about how good Illumi feels when he gets like this, desperate and a little lost in the whirlwind of his own <em>I want</em> and his own <em>I take</em>; about the solid weight of his body and his uneven breathing.  </p><p> <br/>And then Illumi grinds down, pulling closer, and he ceases to think at all for a while, gone in the feel of a lithe strong body pressed up against him in all the right ways, in the all-encompassing sense of just Illumi. The air between them is hot, almost too solid to inhale, and now Hisoka resents the comforter and its added warmth, resents every layer of fabric that dares divide them. </p><p><br/>Illumi makes a sound into his mouth as their hips slot together, something between another growl and a moan, something both filthy and sweet in its vulnerability. One of his hands finds its way into Hisoka's hair, tightening and tensing and completely uncaring for its carefully styled volume. Illumi pulls, twisting Hisoka's neck, mouth chasing his even as his head is crushed back against the headrest.</p><p>He doesn't hold back and <em>oh</em>, isn't that a thought. Hisoka pulls, too, straining forwards and resisting against the deadly grip until pain prickles at his scalp, until blood roars in his ears and his eyes water. There's no air, not with his head jerked that far back and the claim of Illumi's tongue and mouth; no room to fight, no meaning - only Illumi's quiet groans resonating through him, only the slow, indulgent drag of hips right where Hisoka likes Illumi best. Only Illumi.   </p><p>The need to breathe is a nuisance, it often is - Illumi sits back on his lap, taking in lungfulls of air, claws freeing Hisoka's hair and trailing down his jaw, down the side of his neck. A product of some phantasmagoric fever dream, with his hollow eyes half-lidded, his unruly hair and a trace of Hisoka's blood on his lips - beautiful in the way most deadly things are. His silhouette frays and dissolves around the edges as Hisoka struggles to breathe and see again. As if he'd be one that needs <em>vision</em> to feel, to know.      </p><p> <br/>Hisoka really likes the Illumi that sleeps in his bed and insists on having the first shower of the morning and misplaces pins on seemingly every surface of the apartment. He loves the Illumi that allows himself comfort when they're together, that trusts him to sort out his hair and tells him about his work, his family - something precious, rare. But<em> this</em> Illumi? The Illumi that tears at his lips with his teeth and squeezes at his jugular and almost twists his head off, that could kill him just like that, that ruts against him with the mindless abandon usually reserved for killing? This Illumi is fucking breathtaking.  </p><p><br/>Claws glisten red - the very tips, the ones only just leaving tingles of delicious hurt down his neck - Illumi's hand twitches in the air between them, as if its owner isn't quite sure what to do with it, how to claim what he wants. How to fully process a want so visceral it leaves him shaking; lean thighs tensing on either side Hisoka's hips, muscles straining beneath the thin fabric of his trousers. </p><p><br/>The choice of outfit, Hisoka thinks with a small part of him still capable of thinking, has been a godsend. Illumi has never not looked good in a turtleneck hugging his broad shoulders and arms and chest, and the pants...The pants are a loose fit but the material is shapeless and malleable, fine weave doing nothing to conceal the obscene curve of his arousal, so Hisoka makes a show of looking. Makes sure Illumi feels his eyes on him as his gaze drags through the stained curve of his mouth, takes in the erratic rise and fall of his chest, the elegant sweep of his arms. Settles between his legs, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. </p><p><br/>Illumi looks back - eyes wild and helpless, a tremor in his hands - all wound up and restless and hard, and there's no place Hisoka would rather be.  <br/>'Oh?' He grins, blinking through the blur of tears. A hand conquers the tangle of the comforter to makes its way between their bodies - Illumi's cock is a solid outline against the front of his pants, a hot weight in his hand. 'Is this all for me? All of it?' </p><p><br/>'Don't play coy' Illumi grits out through clenched teeth but his hips shift against the touch and his cheeks bear the faintest hint of a flush. </p><p><br/>'I wouldn't dare,' Hisoka cranes his neck through the lingering ache, seeks out the wet heat of his mouth - <em>my turn now</em>. Illumi's eyes flutter shut but he doesn't kiss him just yet, just inhales his breath, takes in every hitch and stutter as he slowly strokes him through the fabric. </p><p><br/>Hisoka doesn't like making decisions. The path he lays through his life is oft straightforward - if not to others then at least to him; a collection of simple endeavours, pursuit of simple pleasures. A linear game of connect the dots. But Illumi, Illumi is never straightforward, Illumi is multifaceted light, oils of an abstract painting on some rich target's living room wall, a trail of words caught in static. It's different, with Illumi, always.</p><p><br/>When with <em>Illumi</em> means the assassin arching into his touch, the tension in his body electrifying, tangible - it's impossible to decide between the hot weight of 'Hisoka, Hisoka' whispered against his lips, the softness of another's lashes against his cheek - and the things pleasure does to Illumi's face, a show of subtle little changes best watched from afar. </p><p><br/>Whatever should I do, Hisoka teases, but the lilt in his voice is drowned out by something heavier, urgent. <em>Whatever should I do</em> - hands rubbing circles up Illumi's things, drawing out a full body shudder, watching his cock twitch and jerk without touch. <em>You kill me, pretty thing, you kill me</em>. </p><p><br/>When Hisoka takes his still-clothed cock in hand - hot and slightly damp to touch, a stutter of hips, a breath - Illumi predetermines the choice for him, like he often unknowingly does. A hand closes just above Hisoka's knee (so good, Illumi's weight, five  points of claws against skin, the trust in Hisoka to keep him balanced, <em>so good</em>); Illumi leans back, legs spreading just a little more. Back arched, shoulders taut, eyes still full of that uncertain yearning as Illumi looks down on him, as he allows himself to feel. Allows himself the vulnerability of wanting, of being reduced to the pleasure he chases and claims and revels in. </p><p>Triumph, too - the assertion of having that want fulfilled, of sitting back and taking what feels good, what makes his mind melt and his blood burn too hot for his veins. </p><p>Shameless, hips rolling forward against Hisoka's hand, breath growing more distorted with each touch, with every half-thrust. </p><p>When Hisoka strokes him with a bit more weight to it, coos obscene sweet nothing - Illumi's bottom lip trembles ever so slightly, and he bites down to still it - a gleam of teeth, a choked gasp. His own arousal throbs at the sight, at the swipe of a pink tongue, at the noises threatening to spill from Illumi's mouth; but Hisoka pays it no heed. This - all of this, Illumi, <em>them</em> - always went beyond mere physical needs where Illumi's involved, a more refined intangible pleasure.  </p><p><br/>Hisoka pulls, fingers fully closed around his length before releasing, watching it strain against the confines of fabric - and Illumi arches, rewards him with a full-body shudder, like he too is torn between peeling closer and savouring the static charge of space between them. Fingertips skirt the waistband and slip under, a ghost of a touch - and pain blooms around Hisoka's thigh as nails dig in, Illumi's hands trembling and clenching.  </p><p><br/>The flat of Hisoka's thumb rubs at the head of his cock, slow friction with no real relief, that same hand flies up and Illumi bites at the knuckle of his index filnger, and the drag of teeth against skin shows in the angle of his jaw. </p><p><br/>'Come now,' Hisoka chides, voice low and raw, reaching up to tug the offending hand away. 'Let me hear you.' </p><p><br/>His other hand settles at the narrow curve of Illumi's hip - part to keep him balanced, part to steal at the heated skin, at the place where his shirt is riding up as he squirms and arches. </p><p><br/>A mistake - or a blessing, perhaps, because the moments that follow bloom with more pain-pleasure-pain, and Hisoka finds the offending hand pinned to the couch. It's not by a hand, this time - a metal head glistens at the centre of his palm. Bullseye, Hisoka licks his lips. Still a perfect split-second shot, even half-undone, even like this. Still deadly, and <em>he's</em> the target, the one initiated through it - and fuck, he<em> wants</em>. </p><p><br/>'Did I say you could touch,' Illumi pants out, and Hisoka's all teeth as he grins up at him, something between provocation and sheer worship. Wants to touch him, wants to sing this worship with his hands, with his tongue on Illumi's skin, his sweat, his blood, the sticky wet spot of precome. Wants - but Illumi has something else in mind, so out of reach yet so very his.  </p><p><br/>There's something Illumi finds in him again and again, something that sweeps the tension out of him in unstoppable waves of bloodlust and power and want, threatening to drag the two of them under and tear them both apart - and Hisoka wouldn't hesitate to welcome it, welcome it as he does for the pin in his hand and the soot-black wildfire in Illumi's eyes. </p><p><br/>Welcomes Illumi now as the assassin tears at his own clothes with bare hands, as the comforter and the front of Hisoka's own pants perish in the process. Lets the wet, red-hot bites down the side of his neck while Illumi readies himself, still mostly clothed, limbs shaky with impatience. Illumi's body stretches around his own fingers, movements distorted by urgency, the obscene spread of thighs gleams white, an illusion of something fragile.  </p><p><br/>Body held down by Illumi's will, mind held hypnotised by the intent in his gaze - there's nothing left for him to do but watch, watch as Illumi steadies himself, hands spread out against Hisoka's chest - and god, if that isn't hot as fuck.  </p><p><br/>It almost hurts when Illumi sinks down on him, one shaky movement - no lube, little to no preparation - but the sound the assassin makes is pure filth, like this is all he wanted, the blinding pleasure-pain. Like<em> this right here</em>, and <em>Hisoka, fuck</em> and <em>good, so good</em> was all that was missing, like something unravels between them, through them. </p><p><br/>One of Illumi's hands stays splayed out against Hisoka's solar plexus as he rides him, a heedless erratic pace - his other seeks Hisoka's, the one that's intact. He laces their fingers together and the one point of contact is almost as good as the wet heat around his cock - the tremble, the uncontrollable clench and unclench around his palm, the heat. </p><p><br/>Illumi moans, loud and unashamed, and Hisoka doesn't dare takes his eyes off him for a second - the way the sound fits around his mouth, the way his lashes flutter. The arch of his back, the flush of his neck beneath the collar - the way he looks at Hisoka, a conqueror, a victor. </p><p><br/>Hisoka comes not long after Illumi pins him down by the hips, rendering him immobile, riding out his own momentary omnipotence. Between the syllables of Illumi's name choked through his climax hides something innermost, something deadly. Symbiotic on a level where words matter little, where all there is comes down to pleasure and pain and completion, and that strange warmth, the traitor.     </p><p><br/>It is only after Illumi comes undone from his cock alone that Hisoka is granted the honour of movement again, just in time to hold him through the last of the tremours. Pulls his mouth against his - finally, finally. Holds the assassin close to his chest, hands in his hair, heartbeat in his throat. Tension melts and dissipates, and Illumi too melts in his arms, sweaty and messy and beyond pleased with himself.  </p><p><br/>Lips trace the wound in his palm, careful, almost tender. Hisoka swears there's the ghost of a smile pressed into his drying blood. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They've cleaned up and showered and eaten, after that. Illumi is standing by the counter and mixing a drink when Hisoka remembers one more matter of relative importance. Importance considerably paled next to Illumi impaling himself on his cock and leaving bleeding tracks on his skin, but importance nonetheless.  </p><p><br/>'Catch,' he says, nonchalant as ever. A loose flick of a wrist - Illumi's fingers close around the card right before it connects with his shoulder. Half a second more, and it'd have slices his nice clean shirt open, but Illumi is always vigilant.  </p><p><br/>His brow creases when he flips it over, skimming the text. The tumbler filled to the brim with infused gin never quite makes it to his mouth, frozen in midair. Hisoka smiles to himself as he turns away, seemingly unconcerned. Allows the time to pass  - few seconds for Illumi to read, few more to process and react. This time the magician knows the pin is coming. It slots between his fingers as he snatches it in midair, weight cold and foreign in his hand. </p><p><br/>Lazily, he rolls the head of it between his fingers - taking his time to study the cool smooth metal before turning to face Illumi again.  </p><p><br/>'What is this.' the Zoldyck prodigy demands, voice a whole range colder. Illumi is beside him in one fluid move, a hand closing around his forearm. A threat, a warning.  </p><p>'What does it look like, hmm?'  </p><p><br/>'Don't play with me.' Hisses Illumi, feline and dangerous. His wrist  does a full one-eighty as he flips the card over, dangerously close to Hisoka's face. 'You've been tracking <em>my</em> mark, <em>my</em> kill.'   </p><p><br/>'Tracking, hardly.' Hisoka shrugs. 'Though I do admit you had me intrigued - it is not often someone evades you for so long. Today I thought I'd check a few sources...' </p><p><br/>'...so you thought you'd track him for me.' Illumi paraphrases, grip tightening ever so slightly. 'We've talked about this - I <em>warned</em> you-'</p><p><br/>'...and this is what they came up with. Granted, I was hoping for something more exciting, but...' Hisoka trails off, all calm and conciliatory. His gaze is the only thing that's restless - Illumi, the card, Illumi again. </p><p> </p><p>'This man is a high-end politician, the elite.' The assassin frowns, the address etched at the bottom of the card a momentary distraction from his rage. The little line of confusion between his brows as he reads the whole things again has been entirely worth it, Hisoka decides for himself. 'This is a closed-off community for the elderly, the outskirts of one of the sleeper suburbs. I don't see how-' </p><p><br/>'He must've been aware <em>everyone</em> couldn't call themselves his number one fan.' Hisoka shrugs once more. 'Decided his life was worth more than a week's worth of fancy cars and luxury condos. Checked in under a false name a week ago and wanted to lay low before the speech.'</p><p><br/>Illumi lets go of his arm and looks over the card for the third time. His eyes are still round with suspense but a lot less  murderous than say thirty seconds ago. Hisoka takes it as his cue to continue, rubbing at the first hints of a bruise beginning to form in Illumi's wake. </p><p><br/>'He's even left behind all his staff and his usual security to make it look like he was still operating from his mansion. This is why-' </p><p><br/>'-why I've been running into dead ends for a week.' Illumi finishes for him. Something in him relaxes, something invisible to the eye but with a lot of weight to it, and now that weight has lifted. 'I'd not expected for someone so in love with his own face on the front of the paper to be so good at disappearing.' </p><p><br/>'A politician with a working brain - you really are in for a rare treat.' He purrs.</p><p> 'What was his downfall?' asks Illumi, now more curiosity than resentment.</p><p><br/>'Sweet Fortuna, a gambler's mistress.' Hisoka stretches. The bruise fills, a pretty purple in the shape of a hand. </p><p><br/>'Sheer dumb luck that one of the onsite cleaners should unwind at the same downtown bar as one of the new bodyguards. Apparently Mr. Conspirant here has been screwing them around with their contracts, messing up their hours - didn't want anyone long-term in case  someone would recognise him.' </p><p><br/>'And?' </p><p><br/>'Alcohol, stress and employers from hell make a flammable bonding agent.' Golden eyes narrow ever so slightly. 'Those two were both quite loud and descriptive in their laments, and I... well, it's good to have many a distant acquaintance that knows how to <em>listen</em>. The guy checked out against the dossier you left behind this morning so I checked the records, chatted with the staff, got a visual.' </p><p><br/>'Huh.' Illumi cocks his head to the side. 'That easy.' </p><p><br/>'That easy. Sheer dumb luck, I did say.' Hisoka allows a liberty of sorts, leaning in so that his breath is soft against the shell of Illumi's ear, so that freshly-washed hair tickles his neck. 'Anything for you.' </p><p><br/>'How about-' Illumi is pressed up flush against him in an instant, seemingly moving with little regard for time and space. A hand tightens on the side of his jaw, pinpricks of deja vu. 'How about explaining why you'd go on and touch my mark?'</p><p><br/>'Touch?' Hisoka smirks against his lips, unbothered, unthreatened and decidedly in love. 'My dear Illumi, why would I knowingly rid you of your fun? I merely did some research. Curiosity, that's all. Curiosity.' </p><p><br/>'Is famously what killed the cat.' Illumi presses forwards as he speaks, and Hisoka can feel the press of his teeth again. 'And if I find Loretski dead or even vaguely harmed when I get there, I won't hesitate to do the same to you.' </p><p><br/>They kiss then, for a few seconds, then for a few more. Illumi's hand grips his chin and Hisoka wonders if that, too, would bruise for the world to see - isn't that a wonderful thought? They kiss, and somewhere in the lazy, unhurried heat of is is a thank you, a you're welcome and everything inbetween. </p><p><br/> Then Illumi's gone, a whirl of hair and the steady thrum of bloodlust reignited in the air. The drink sloshes against the side of the tumbler, abandoned on the bench, the bathrobe is thrown on the couch. Hisoka, too, is left behind, momentarily lost in a fantasy of death by Illumi's hand. </p><p><br/>One day, he whispers, predatory and fond. One day. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>Illumi stops once, in the doorway, now clad in in all back and poised to kill - why wait till the morning, till the dawn of the last day? The location is not far - he won't be gone for long. </p><p><br/>'No, really,' he says over his shoulder in a neutral tone. 'Why?' </p><p><br/>Why go out of your way and help me? Hangs unspoken.  Why let me do the honours? Why this, any and all? </p><p><br/>Hisoka grins at him, at the killer standing in the rectangle of darkness, half a step away from the night. A streetlamp's glow creeps through the doorway, casting a warm glow on his face, making his hair seem golden. </p><p><br/>Fingertips trace the lingering warmth on his lips as Hisoka holds his gaze, all teeth, and knows this is a question they both know the answer to. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for staying along for the ride, i really hope you enjoy this work! as always, comments and concrit is very welcome. </p><p>find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/nibelvng">twitter</a></p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>initially intended to be ready by day 1, then postponed to day 4, then late for day 7 - time has been a difficult concept in quarantine. Hope you enjoy reading this and if you have any comments or concrit i'd love to hear it all!</p><p>i'm also on <a href="https://twitter.com/nibelvng">twitter~</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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